


Among the Amaryllis

by obitohno



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Awkward Levi Ackerman, Drama, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Everyone Is Alive, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Levi Ackerman Has OCD, Levi Ackerman Has PTSD, Levi Ackerman Needs a Hug, Levi Ackerman is Bad at Feelings, Levi is Whipped (Shingeki no Kyojin), Love Confessions, Masturbation, Modern Era, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Hange Zoë, Pining, Porn With Plot, Reader-Insert, Romance, Secret Admirer, Sexual Tension, Shy Levi Ackerman, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smut, Touch-Starved Levi Ackerman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-25 15:54:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30091494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obitohno/pseuds/obitohno
Summary: Every Saturday, you secretly leave flowers by Levi’s door in the hope to eventually reveal your identity and pursue the elder. Unfortunately, your plan fails horribly as Levi suffers with hay-fever and thinks that someone is pranking him.
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Erwin Smith, Levi Ackerman & Reader, Levi Ackerman/Original Female Character(s), Levi Ackerman/Reader, Mikasa Ackerman/Eren Yeager, Sasha Blouse/Connie Springer
Comments: 50
Kudos: 138





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> \- i do not own any of Attack on Titan.  
> \- hihihi new readers!! there’s a lot of ‘firsts’ for me when it comes to writing this story, so please bare with me as you join me with this...  
> \- firstly, this is my first ever fanfic for aot, and of course, for our beloved levi, so i’m really excited, but also really nervous to share this, so i really, really hope that you guys will like it!  
> \- secondly, i’ve never written a story using the second person before, so this is all new to me. i’ve wanted to try writing a reader au before, but couldn’t think of anything to write, so once a flower-shop au came to mind, i just kind of rolled with it? i will also try my best to avoid using a name for ‘reader’, but if i struggle too much, i may end up creating one—but i seem to be doing okay so far, so fingers crossed, i haven’t done too badly with this first chapter ;-;  
> -and thirdly! i’ve also never written about a non-binary character before, and as i’ve seen hange being portrayed as non-binary, i thought i’d also try to be more inclusive… so if i ever make any mistakes, please point them out to me as i would never want to offend anybody who may be reading  
> \- also, the story may start out as a little slow as i find my bearings and see where i want to take it, but this will later include explicit scenes such as smut, so i just want to warn you guys beforehand, in case it's not your thing  
> \- anyways! long intro over: i hope that you guys enjoy this story, and if you do, please feel free to leave a comment—i’d really like to hear your opinions, because i’m not entirely sure if this story is good enough to continue :///

**_July: Week One_ **

It all starts with a handful of freshly-picked daisies.

It’s Saturday, and as it is also early July, it means that the sun is high up in the sky, even well after the nineteenth hour. Levi is returning home from a late dinner with both Hange and Erwin, the former completely unaware that their short, dark haired friend isn’t at all focused on their chattering, as he’s currently more bothered about the sweat that is forming on the nape of his neck. Levi swipes at it with the back of his hand, not bothering to hide his grimace of disgust as he wipes the same hand on the thigh of his trousers. His pace is rushed and he’s bothered enough that he blows air from between his lips to move his hair back from his face. Hange continues to talk to Erwin about something Levi has no interest in listening to, and so when his place of residency appears around the next corner, his pace immediately quickens.

However, it appears that he lacks any form of luck, as just as he’s crossing over the road, hand already shovelling into the back pocket of his dress pants for his keys, there’s a shrill bleep that comes from Hange’s direction.

Levi is annoyed by the interruption, because he doesn’t have to look up to know that Hange’s mouth has already split into one of what Levi likes to call their ‘shit-eating’ grins. He does, however, meet Erwin’s gaze, the taller man regarding him with an amused, yet small smile, and Levi’s eyes narrow at the sight.

‘What?’ He barks, voice gruff enough to portray his irritation, worsened by a wave of hot air that billows across his face. His face screws into an expression that Erwin can only describe as comical, dark brows pinching together as he reaches to wipe at the line of sweat that is now trickling down the curve of his cheek. His lips part to voice his complaint, but Hange beats him to it, waving their mobile phone in front of his face. He all but slaps it away from his line of sight, reprimanding his friend, ‘stop that, shit-face.’

Hange’s grin only widens, ‘guess what?’

Levi huffs, head already turning his head away as he continues his mission to return home as soon as possible. It is Erwin who asks, ‘what?’

‘Aw! You’re _supposed_ to guess, Erwin!’ Hange protests, hands thrown into the air. They then pause to push their glasses further up their nose, only for the metal frame to immediately slide back to their original position, aided by the slickness that clings to the surface of Hange’s face.

Levi grunts, ‘you going to tell us or what?’

Hange releases a gleeful laugh that makes Levi’s nose crinkle again, with disapproval this time. He knows that laugh—Hange is plotting something, which, from what he’s learnt from past experiences over the years they’ve been friends, Levi knows it’ll most likely end in disaster.

‘No,’ he says before Hange can reveal their news, which only induces another groan of protest.

‘C’mon, Levi! Eren and the others are—!’

‘I said _no_ ,’ Levi is angrily throwing open the iron gate and stomping up the short pebbled path toward the front step. ‘Absolutely no way in _hell_ am I—’

He is cut off by Hange’s arm curling around his neck, pulling him into a head-lock. He grunts, body engulfed by Hange’s stifling body heat, and he grabs their wrist before they can reach for his hair. ‘It’s just a few drinks, Levi!’ They squeeze tighter, and Erwin watches with blatant amusement, leaning with his elbow propped against the stoned garden wall. ‘They’ve already started without us—we can’t let the kids show us up; we _mustn’t_ let them out-drink us!’

Levi’s hands dart out to shove them away. Hange stumbles backwards, but their grip remains solid, and so Levi wavers on the spot as his body has no choice but to follow Hange’s, his legs staggering to regain balance whilst still hunched over.

‘I’m not letting go until you say yes.’

‘No.’

‘C’mon!’

‘No.’

‘It’ll be fun—Erwin, tell him it’ll be fun.’

‘It’ll be fun.’

 _That shit-headed traitor_ , Levi thinks as he attempts to wriggle himself free a second time. Erwin is still watching, knowing grin widening as his blue eyes dart to meet Hange’s, and the two share a look above Levi’s head. He scowls down at the ground, and squirms again.

And then Hange’s mobile beeps a second time. Somehow, they shift until they’re holding Levi with just one arm—a fact that renders Levi’s mood in a bitter taste on the tip of his tongue as he witnesses another trickle of sweat actually dripping to the floor—and uses their free hand to check their mobile phone for any new text messages.

‘If Levi tries to say no,’ Hange reads aloud in a voice that sounds far too happy, in Levi’s opinion, ‘then tell him that—’

They proceed to read out your name, along with the knowledge that you will also be joining the group on their night out.

Levi immediately stills, hand still curled tightly around Hange’s left wrist. Erwin cranes his neck to see the look on his friend’s face, but Levi’s features are hidden by a dark curtain of hair that is due a trim any day now. The shorter man is quiet now, and when he does speak, his voice is so low that his words are unintelligible.

‘What was that?’ Hange makes a show of cupping their ear with their free hand.

And with a sudden bout of new strength, Levi succeeds in shoving them away with a rough push. Hange gushes out a loud bark of laughter at the sight of his flushed cheeks, although Erwin can’t tell if it’s due to the heat or because he’s embarrassed. He suspects it’s the latter. Levi’s hair is mussed, falling messily into his eyes as the corners of his mouth pull down into a frown.

‘One,’ he huffs, scowl aimed at the both of them as he then jabs a finger toward Hange, who teases by raising their hands in mock surrender. Levi starts toward the front door, keys still clasped tightly in the palm of his hand.

Hange follows, grinning, ‘one what?’

Erwin watches the back of Levi’s head tilt towards the sky, as if he’s muttering a silent prayer, and he can only shake his head full of blonde hair at Hange’s antics.

Levi turns his head to glare at Hange from over his shoulder. ‘One drink—and I _mean_ one fucking drink,’ he seethes. He stomps up to the front step and shoves the key into the lock. ‘I’ll be ready in an hour.’ And then he’s hauling the door open and before either of them can follow him inside, he’s slamming it shut behind him. They listen to the key locking shut, and when Hange turns to Erwin, there’s a look of satisfaction plastered to their features.

They both exit the front garden, the iron gate squeaking shut behind them and Hange strains to throw an arm across Erwin’s shoulder. He allows them to lead the way back down the street, toward his own house, as he lives much closer. Hange hums happily, still sporting that silly smile of theirs.

‘What are you plotting?’ Erwin grins knowingly.

‘Who? Me? How _dare_ you?’ Hange is laughing. ‘I would _never_ plot anything—that’s totally not my style at all.’

Erwin pats the top of Hange’s head, turning his own away as he glances both left and right before crossing over the road, his eyes glimmering as the corners of his mouth tilt upward.

‘Just don’t upset him too much, will you?’

The gasp that escapes Hange’s mouth is both exaggerated and drawn out. ‘I am offended, Erwin. _Really_. Do you have no faith in me at all?’

He chuckles, but just as he’s about to answer, he is easily distracted by the familiar sight of your form lingering outside of the only flower-shop in town. You’ve moved a table to sit out in the sunshine, and you’re too busy sorting through an arrangement of sunflowers to notice the pair of them heading towards you. Hange is quick to make sure that you notice them, however, and bellows your name so loudly that they gain the attention of a few passer-by’s, who peer at you curiously. You return Hange’s enthusiastic greeting with one of your own, and when the two are within arm’s reach, you’re sharing an embrace with Hange, wheezing out a laugh when their arms circle around your shoulders tightly. You manage a soft ‘hello’ in Erwin’s direction when he waves at you politely, eyes gleaming with mirth.

When Hange finally releases you, there’s a content tilting to your mouth as you guide your friends to the table, clearing a little space by placing one of the boxes of flowers by your feet. Your long, honey coloured hair is weaved into your usual braid, loose strands dampened and curled from contact with the sweat that has formed under your hairline. They fall to frame your face, and when Erwin glances at your cheeks, there’s a golden glow that gives away the fact that you’ve obviously sat in the sun for too long. The bridge of your nose is also slightly burnt, and Hange coos at the reddened skin despite the embarrassed ducking of your head.

‘We’ll not stay long,’ Erwin promises as he takes a seat beside Hange, whom is already gushing about their plans.

‘So, we’ve decided that we’re going bar-hopping tonight,’ they announce, and by the small circle that your mouth forms, Erwin surmises that this isn’t what you were expecting to hear.

‘We?’ He teases, nudging his shoulder against Hange’s, who returns the gesture with one of their own, sporting yet another excited grin.

You continue to pick through the delivery of sunflowers, looking for the best looking petals, long fingers easily flickering through the stems until you’ve formed a decent enough bunch. ‘Bar-hopping?’ You muse as you begin to tie the bouquet together with a length of red ribbon. ‘I thought we were just going for a quiet drink in a bar or something.’

Hange leans an elbow on the tabletop, narrowly missing the bundle that you’ve just put together. You eye your friend warily, quickly snatching the bouquet from their reach. ‘Now, now,’ Hange sings your name, placing a hand on the top of your head. ‘My little, short friend,’ Hange sighs dramatically.

‘Levi’s shorter,’ you grumble in a futile attempt to defend your own honour, even though you know that what you’re saying is false. Somewhere along the short few months since your introduction to the ever-extending group of friends, it’s become a running joke to constantly point out that you and Levi are amongst the shortest. You’ve never really understood the reasoning why—although you _do_ suspect that the others simply do it just because Levi reacts in such a hostile manner—but just a mere inch separates the two of you, something he’s always quick to remind you of whenever he decides that you’re getting on his nerves. Which, as of late, seems to be almost every time you come across one another.

Hange acts if they haven’t heard you, ‘Eren wants to get absolutely wasted, so _we’re_ going to help him.’

You hum to yourself, already forming yet another bouquet. ‘Mikasa?’

Both Erwin and Hange answer at the same time with an affirmative, ‘Mikasa.’

You click your tongue, disapproving. Just a few years older than the pair, you’ve come to care for the both of them as equally as the other. However, their on-again, off-again relationship is hard to keep up with—you have no doubts that the pair will someday grow old and wrinkly together, but right now, it seems that the pair are breaking up more often than not. That being said, you also have no doubts that by the end of the evening, the two will be back together again.

‘Alright,’ you are quick to agree to Hange’s plans. In truth, you had originally planned to have a drink or two, but it’s been so long since you last went out just for the sake of getting drunk, and so the prospect excites you more than you care to admit out loud.

However, it must have shown on your face, as Hange is reaching a hand to pinch at your cheek, ‘aw! Isn’t she cute, Erwin? See!? Levi should take a leaf out of your book—he was so grumpy about coming.’

‘He was?’ You can’t help but perk up at the mention of his name, and you don’t even notice the knowing look that Hange aims towards Erwin. He can’t help but also spare a small smile at the pink that is now blossoming across your cheeks.

It’s hardly a secret that you harbour feelings towards the one and only Levi Ackerman. It’s just a small crush, you tell yourself most days. And most days, you manage to pretend that it doesn’t hurt at all when you look at him and realise that the sentiment will never be mutual. So when Hange’s smile broadens in a way that it looks almost uncomfortable, you don’t really understand why they’re looking at you like that.

‘He was,’ Erwin confirms with a small nod, seemingly disinterested in the conversation as he picks at the stems that you’ve decided aren’t up to standard, but evidently still listening as it is him who answers your question.

‘Yeah,’ Hange starts, taking the time to push their glasses further up their nose again. And again, they slide back down to their original position. They huff, pushing their hair back from their sweaty face. ‘’Kay, I’ve got to take a shower before we head out, because I think I can actually smell myself now.’ They then proceed to make a show of lifting each arm to sniff underneath, and you can only hide your amused giggle as Erwin stands abruptly, hand reaching out to yank on the back of Hange’s shirt until they’re also standing. Erwin throws a farewell over his shoulder as he pulls a waving Hange after him. Just as they’re disappearing around the corner, Hange yells your name loud enough that you’re pretty sure the entire street heard them. ‘Wear something pretty! See you in an hour!’

And then they’re gone, dragged behind the wall after a scolding Erwin.

You smile after them, shaking your head as you then decide that if you’re going to meet them within the hour, then you should close up shop whilst you still have the time. It doesn’t take long to clean the mess from the table, and then you’re carefully manoeuvring the finished bouquets into the small building, placing each one in their very own glass vase, complete with brightly coloured wrapping paper. You then heave the remaining boxes inside, stacking them in the storage room behind the counter before locking it shut.

The shop floor is a small space, even smaller than your own living room. But you like to think the trinkets that you’ve collected over the years—along with the photographs of distant family, friends, and even one of your childhood pet rabbit—decorate the space that isn’t filled by some sort of greenery. On the right side of the shop, stand shelving units that are stacked as high as the ceiling. They display many a flower that are already in full bloom, and opposing them, on the far left is a glass cabinet that contains bulbs and seeds for every fruit, vegetable and flower thinkable. By the front door, there is a large bay window, where customers are permitted to sit for consultations where you sometimes aid them in their purchases, or where the neighbourhood children come to sit and draw the seemingly endless array of flower heads of all shapes, sizes and colours. On the wall behind the counter, you’ve accumulated an impressive collection of drawings and paintings over the years, and you like to think that these are the little things that make your little shop— _Amaryllis_ —a place you can proudly call yours.

And when you’re locking up, preparing to return home to ready yourself for your much needed night out, you can’t help but spare a wistful smile as you turn the key in the lock.

It’s small, but it’s home.

๑

Four hours later, and it’s safe to say that Levi is in yet another of his foul moods. When he’d first arrived at Eren’s apartment, he’d instantly snapped at the host upon discovering the knowledge that they planned to travel to not one, but _multiple_ bars. The thought of being exposed to a place where so many people will be gathering to get _absolutely fucking hammered_ —as Eren had cheered, already tipsy long before anyone had even arrived—like the _filthy, stinking pigs they are,_ as Levi had put it, is enough to form a scowl on his features, that is yet to disappear, even an hour after they’d arrived at their final destination.

Upon arriving at _Titans_ , his mood has somehow worsened significantly, and he’s currently sat at the end of the booth, miles more sober than anyone else. The _little shits—_ all noticeably taller than himself, as Jean had made the mistake of pointing out (he’d received a painful kick to the shin for that comment)—were all somehow managing to remain in some form of upright position. Most have joined the dance floor, you included; Levi’s eyes had followed your every move ever since you’d arrived significantly later than everyone else. He can’t even remember the excuse you’d babbled once you’d flown through Eren’s front door, dressed in a little black dress than Hange had made a huge fuss about. Levi doesn’t admit that flushing of your cheeks under Hange’s attentions had been, dare he think, cute. But because he has a terrible habit of running his mouth before he stops to think whenever you’re within the vicinity—and because he’d loathed the way Jean had glanced at your legs for a second far too long—he’d snapped something about your dress being _too fucking short_. Your smile had faltered, and he’d almost swallowed his pride to apologise, but before he could, you’d simply turned away, forcing a bewildered-looking Armin into a conversation instead. But he hadn’t missed the way you’d been tugging at the hem of your dress since then, and each time he catches you doing so, he has a hard time admitting, even to himself, that he feels guilty for putting down an outfit that you’d obviously put effort into just because he couldn’t control his own jealousy.

You’ve even loosened your hair from your usual braid, and Levi thinks that this is the first time he’s seen the curls cascade down your back freely. The strands are longer than he’d expected, an array of golden honey and chestnut brown. It’s definitely a sight for sore eyes, not that he’ll ever tell you—or anyone for that matter, especially Hange, that Godforsaken, shit-faced blabber mouth. His eyes lazily drag over your entire form, and you are blissfully oblivious to him doing so, downing what he guesses to be your fifth cocktail of the night. You’d compromised with Sasha, and had managed to weasel your way out of risking a pair of ridiculously high stilettos, and instead, had settled with a pair of heeled sandals, the heel just an inch tall. It means, that just for tonight, the two of you are the exact same height, not that Levi is really thinking about that sort of thing as he’s too busy pretending that he’s _not_ staring at the sway of your hips as you join Jean, Historia and Ymir in a group dance. He’s not even listening to the stupidly upbeat song, the base so loud that he swears he can feel it vibrating in his teeth.

The remainder of the group is scattered about the club; Mikasa had barged in on the group a couple of hours ago, and no-one has seen Eren since. Levi suspects that it’s the last they’ll see of the couple for the remainder of the night, as he’d caught them sneaking off to the bathroom stalls just minutes after they’d arrived—Connie and Sasha also disappearing in a similar fashion— _disgusting_ , he thinks as he takes a long sip of his whiskey.

Even Erwin, located on the other side of the booth, has a pink tinge that stains the tips of his ears, and whenever he lowers his head to listen to a blushing Armin stammering away in his ear, his eyes struggle to remain open. Armin, tipsy from whatever cider he’s been consuming since they started drinking, is talking the most Levi has seen, despite the fact that he can’t make out the blonde’s words as he chatters away to the older man.

You, at least, seem to be enjoying the company of your friends, and the four of you are engaged in some sort of dance that Levi doesn’t recognise. There’s a healthy glow to your naturally tanned skin—despite the slight pinking of sunburn on the tip of your nose—and you’re currently sporting the biggest grin he thinks he’s ever seen on your face. Jean leans to say something into your ear, and you laugh so loudly that Levi somehow manages to hear it over the music from where he’s sat. Connie and Sasha soon rejoin the group, staggering around so clumsily that they almost send a man flying as they duck under the tray of drinks he’s carrying, narrowly skipping out of the way. And from somewhere Levi doesn’t care to find out, both Reiner and Bertolt suddenly appear, too. He watches for a while, sipping on his drink until he eventually tips the rest of it down his throat. He quickly orders another round of drinks, and as he waits, he suddenly feels a weight leaning against his shoulder.

He turns his head to see Hange’s temple pressed to his shoulder, so far gone that their glasses are somehow missing. Were they even wearing their glasses when they left Eren’s apartment? He can’t remember.

‘Oi, shit-face, where’s your specs?’ He raises a hand to gently rap the back of his knuckles against Hange’s cheek. All he receives is a garbled sentence that he can’t make out from over the music, Hange’s arm slumping around his waist as they decide that he makes an acceptable pillow. He, however, does not, and so he huffs, annoyed, and tries to shake them awake. Either he’s being ignored, or Hange really is that much of a deadweight when they drink, because no matter how many times he yanks on a long strand of chocolate coloured hair, or flicks the tip of his middle finger against Hange’s forehead, they still don’t budge.

He gives up, expelling a long sigh. The next round of drinks arrive, and he’s sure it’s a sight; him nursing his whiskey with an unconscious Hange clinging to him. Luckily, now that it’s almost midnight, it’s not so hot outside, but Hange’s body heat—along with the humidity caused by so many bodies in one place—is enough to form yet another sweat under the back of his dress shirt. It’s annoying—he’s already showered and washed his hair twice today, and he’s sure as hell that he’s going to take another before he goes to bed later on, whenever that may be. It doesn’t take long for the palms of his hands to become clammy enough that he can’t resist the urge to wash his skin any longer. And so he shifts his body so that he can lean Hange against the back of the booth, their left cheek smushed against the cool leather. It takes some heaving, because he’s forgotten just how heavy Hange is, and by the time he’s made sure they won’t face-plant the floor, his shirt feels like a second skin as it clings to his torso. He grimaces, running a hand through sweat-slick hair, and spares Erwin a nod as his blue eyed friend manages to tear his gaze from Armin long enough to acknowledge the fact that Levi is heading for the bathroom.

Along the way, he’s downright disgusted at the sight of Eren at the end of the hallway, Mikasa’s legs wrapped tightly around his waist, his hands cupping the curve of her backside in order to hold her against the wall as he sloppily thrusts into her. She clings to his shoulders, and when she lifts her head to gasp against Eren’s neck, her eyes open just enough to spot Levi and she starts, eyes widening.

‘What in the fuck—go do that shit at _home_ , Yeager,’ Levi spits from over his shoulder, chin tilting as he literally turns his nose up at them. He’s sure they’re not the only couple who are partaking in the same act of an alcohol-induced fuck in the middle of a club, but it’s still enough to make Levi sneer, repulsed.

He’s already pushing open the bathroom door and disappearing inside when Eren yelps a loud, ‘shit, shit, shit,’ as he scrambles to tug his jeans back over his hips.

Inside the bathroom, Levi is dubious of just how clean the taps are, so he makes quick work of scrubbing his hands as best he can. He doubts the automatic soap dispenser is as hygienic as it’s supposed to be, and he already knows that he’s going to be rewashing his hands as soon as he gets home, but for now, it’ll have to do. Luckily, he appears to be the only person using the bathroom, so he makes sure to scrub between each finger, around each fingernail, over the tops of his hands and across the palms. He repeats this twice before rinsing and because he doesn’t trust the hand-dryer either, he waves his hands in the air until they feel at least somewhat dry.

He isn’t sure how long he’s taken, but it’s obviously long enough because when he returns to the booth, Erwin is guiding Armin from his seat.

‘Where you going?’ Levi demands, shouting over the music as his hand clamps around Erwin’s free wrist in order to tug him down to his height.

‘Everyone’s gone home!’ Erwin struggles to yell over the music, his words slurring. Levi’s eyes immediately dart to the dance-floor, where he sees that Erwin is telling the truth, the others now nowhere in sight.

He didn’t think he’d been washing his hands for _that_ long.

Erwin is now leading Armin from the booth, ‘am taking Armin home,’ he jabs a thumb over his shoulder, toward a now conscious Hange, ‘Hange says they’re staying at yours.’

The sigh that Levi releases is so deep that he feels his entire body slump without an ounce of energy to even argue. He bids some form of farewell to Erwin and a very red-faced Armin, and watches them weave through the remainder of the crowd before they reach the exit. Left eye twitching with irritation, Levi turns to Hange and reaches for them, hauling them to their feet without so much as a warning.

‘Woah!’ Hange bellows dramatically, arms flailing as they catch their balance by gripping a fistful of Levi’s hair. He grits his teeth and he doesn’t bother with being gentle as he starts to drag Hange toward the exit. Hange is uncharacteristically sluggish on their feet, and their journey to the door takes far too long for his liking. Along the way, he keeps an eye out in case he bumps into you again, but it’s clear that you’ve left with the others, as he’s sure he’d spot you amongst the crowd if you hadn’t. He briefly wonders if you’ve gone home with Jean, but that line of thought is quickly quashed down before he can feel the beginnings of vexation settling into the pit of his stomach.

The journey to his home is quiet, save for the dragging of Hange’s shoes against the concrete, and Levi is relieved that summer nights are much cooler than the daytime as a gentle breeze manages to billow under the surface of his shirt. It cools the sweat that’s built along the length of his spine, and by the time he’s hauling Hange’s wavering body past the small iron gate and into his front garden, he’s feeling less irritable.

However, just as he’s stomping his way up to his front door, his fingers digging for his keys for the second time tonight, he pauses. Because on his doorstep, there is a small, white napkin with his name scribbled, in ink, across the front.

‘Huh?’ Hange slurs, head lolling until it thumps against his. Levi isn’t paying any mind, as his gaze is still glued to the offending napkin, his feet daring to only step closer once he’s managed to sit Hange on the stone wall that separates his garden from his neighbour’s. Torso hunched in a position that looks uncomfortable, Hange manages to ask, eyes closed, ‘why’d we stop?’

Levi ignores his friend in favour for crouching before his front step, his fingers inching out toward the napkin. Upon closer inspection, he realises that the napkin is actually wrapped around something, and after staring at the ink that has blotched into the texture of the paper, he eventually picks it up. Hange makes a noise between a snort and a laugh from behind him, but he doesn’t acknowledge the sound as he flicks open the napkin to reveal…

Daisies?

For a long moment, Levi stares at the flowers, downright confused and if he so admits, offended. His neck straightens and through narrowed eyes, he looks from left to right, as if waiting for someone to pop out of the bushes and yell ‘surprise’. He doesn’t realise that Hange is watching him, bleary eyed due to the fact that their glasses are still nowhere to be found, but still grinning nonetheless.

Meanwhile, Levi returns his stare to the daisies, his index finger stroking over the tiny, white petals, a crease appearing between his eyebrows as he brings them closer to his face, eyes scanning for any clues as to who may have left them behind. What is most peculiar about this, he thinks, is that the roots have been left intact, as if the flowers were freshly plucked from the ground. This only confuses Levi more.

He isn’t stupid enough to assume that someone has intentionally left him a bundle of flowers as a romantic gesture, so he spends the next few minutes trying to wrack his brain for the list of morons that would’ve done this to annoy him.

Armin is too _nice_ to pull something as silly as a childish prank, plus, Levi watched him leave with Erwin, so he’s immediately out of the question. Jean, he doubts is smart enough to pull out daises out by the root—the idiot would definitely just snap the stalks in half, so it’s also not him. Connie and Eren were too busy with their respective girlfriends, so Levi highly doubts that they’d taken a detour on their way home to drop off some flowers at his door. Neither Reiner, nor Bertolt know where he lives, and Hange is sat right behind him, so that leaves… you.

No.

Levi immediately throws that thought away, because one, he doesn’t even know who you left with—if it’s any of the above, then that, alone, pulls you out of the running—and two, you’re a fucking florist, for god’s sake. You wouldn’t be so stupid to leave behind something so painfully _obvious_. That, and three, Levi _knows_ that there’s very little chance of you harbouring anything other than platonic adoration towards him. He winces at _that_ thought.

No. _No._ It can’t be you.

Maybe it was just a mistake, and whoever it was had left them at the wrong door?

He looks from right to left, this time, and still, his brain comes up with nothing. And then, for an unknown reason to him, to Hange, and to anyone else within a two mile radius, he brings to flowers to his nose, and inhales. There’s a faint sweetness clinging to the petals, masked by the stench of freshly cut grass. It’s a pleasant scent, but upon realising what he’s just done makes Levi’s eyes widen almost comically, and from where they sit, Hange has to stifle a laugh into the crook of their elbow. Luckily, Levi is busy with all but throwing the offending flowers to the floor, glaring down at them with a newfound dislike.

The familiar tickling of his nostrils makes his nose crinkle in a lame attempt to prevent what is inevitable, and he sneezes, head lurching forward with the unexpected force. He sniffs thickly, the noise wet with mucus, which is already forming a headache between his eyebrows. His chest heaves and his eyes are already watering, and he struggles to resist the tempting urge to rub them. He manages to turn his head to Hange, who is now staring at him, seemingly sobered up enough to peer at him as if fascinated by his allergies.

Levi’s lips part, but before he can speak, his nose is tingling once more, and he releases four consecutive sneezes, the gesture quickly followed by a pained groan. When he manages to lift his head, it’s to glare at the discarded stems, the petals scattered across the concrete.

‘What the fuck?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- thank you so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed!!  
> \- please show support by leaving a kudos or even a comment; i’d love to hear what you think.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- i do not own any of Attack on Titan.  
> \- okay, so wow, the support i've already received on this fic is amazing-i really didn't think anyone would actually want to read this, but i'm happy that at least some of you are enjoying the story so far :') so thank you all for the comments that you sent on the first chapter; it really meant a lot to hear what you guys thought, and i hope that you like this chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it  
> \- i also have a terrible habit of forgetting to edit until days after i've posted, so pls ignore any typos that there may be; i will eventually get around to fixing them, i'm just v impatient and always want to upload as soon as i finish a chapter :/  
> \- here is some awkward, jealous, fluffy boy levi, enjoy!

**_July: Week Two_ ** ****

Two days pass before you see Levi again.

You’re awaiting a delivery from your usual supplier, repeatedly eyeing the small alarm clock on the far side of the counter as you busy yourself with a large order of yellow roses. It’s another warm day, and today, you’ve used one of the trolleys to prop open the entrance door to allow some of the humidity out. It does little to filter the air, however, and it isn’t long before you’re taking a break to try and switch on the large air-conditioning unit. However, it’s notorious for breaking down on you, and it’s because of this that you rarely attempt to use it. But today, you’re desperate enough to balance precariously on the top of the stool that you’ve swiped from behind the counter. You’re too busy pressing just about every button on the blasted device, other hand thumping down on the lid, that you don’t register the sound of footsteps until it’s too late.

‘I don’t think you’re supposed to hit it like that.’

Startling, you release an embarrassing shriek, followed by a curse word that is expelled from between your lips, and your entire body wobbles dangerously. A pair of warm, strong hands reach out to grip your bare thighs in order to stop you from falling, and when you turn your head, it is Levi who happens to be your saving grace. You’re sure that your face looks as red as it feels, and you stammer out a rushed apology.

His expression is passive as he slowly pulls his hands back once he deems you safe from falling. He’s offering his hand to help you from the stool, and you pray that your palms aren’t clammy, your hand easily slipping into his.

Once both of your feet are safely upon the ground, he takes a hesitant step backwards, eyes sweeping over your entire form. You can already feel your left eye twitching with annoyance as he regards your outfit with a calculated stare, and although he doesn’t comment, you’re not blind to his disapproval.

‘You wear _that_ to work?’

Your eyes close, and any form of thanks that you’d previously planned to say are now quickly forgotten as you blow out a puff of air from between your lips. Personally, you don’t see the issue with your clothes; a pair of mid-thigh, light washed denim shorts, and an oversized t-shirt that is tucked into the high waistband. Your legs are bare, save for the dainty anklet that Hange had gifted you after a trip to the seaside a few weeks ago, your feet stuffed into an old pair of sandals. It’s definitely a casual outfit, but it’s also weather appropriate, and you turn away from Levi’s raised eyebrow.

‘It’s warm out,’ you point out, bending down to pick up a stem that has fallen from the counter.

‘You’re inside,’ he counters, much to your chagrin, because even though he’s not exactly incorrect, you refuse to allow his matter-of-fact attitude to put a downer on your day.

Instead, you click your tongue at him, not realising that his gaze is still fixated to expanse of skin that is displayed before him. You’re too busy staring up at the air-con unit with a frown pinching between your eyebrows.

‘Any idea how to work one of these?’ Your question snaps him out of whatever daydream he’s fallen into, and his eyes move up to your hopeful expression.

He hums a non-committal answer and uses his shoulder to nudge you out of his way.

‘You got a ladder?’

‘A ladder?’ You repeat, blinking at him dumbly.

He looks almost annoyed by your answer, tutting loudly, ‘yes, a ladder.’

You tilt your head toward the storeroom. ‘Yeah, but it’s all the way at the back—’

‘Fetch it,’ he orders, turning his back to you to roll the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. He’s running his fingers through his hair when he realises that you haven’t moved, cool eyes darting over to you once more. ‘Well?’

You ask, exasperated, ‘can’t you just use the stool?’

His eyes narrow, expression twisting into one to display his irritation at your defiance. ‘I’m helping you, aren’t I?’ When you nod, albeit a tad dumbfounded by this fact, he says, ‘so go and get the ladder—I’m not risking breaking my neck on a shitting stool—not even for you,’ he adds under his breath, watching you huff, but spinning on your heel to do as he tells you to.

You disappear into the back of the store, and as he listens to you rummaging around inside the storeroom, he crosses his arms over his chest and sweeps his gaze over the entire shop. He eyes what looks to be the sapling of some kind of fruit tree, his nose crinkling with disgust. Even though he made sure to swallow down an antihistamine with his morning tea, he can still feel the irritating sensation of his eyes beginning to itch, and he has to press the tip of his index finger to his nose in an attempt to suppress the urge to sneeze. When you finally emerge from the storeroom, you pause upon seeing the reddening of the whites of his eyes, and your mouth opens with surprise.

‘Did you forget to take a—?’

‘I _never_ forget,’ he snaps, all but snatching the ladder from your hands. You watch with mild amusement as he quickly muffles a sneeze into the crook of his elbow before straightening his spine and pointing a glare at you, as if daring you to say a word. You hold your hands in mock surrender, lips pursed in order to hide your smile, and you watch him climb the ladder, setting himself to work.

Whilst he does so, you decide to duck into the small staff room—only just big enough for a small kitchenette, a bookcase, and a couple of soft armchairs—and fill the kettle with fresh water. As you wait for the device to finish its cycle, you prepare a cup of Earl Grey tea. It’s not his favourite—no, that’s a sentiment reserved only for a special blend that is flavoured with cinnamon—but it’s the best you have in the cupboards. You’re certain he won’t settle for something as _bland and tasteless_ as a cup of simple breakfast tea, so you go about pouring the freshly boiled water over the teabag, allowing it to brew for a short while before you remove it. You’ve remembered to forgo the milk, which is something you learnt the hard way after Levi had literally thrown the tea—mug and saucer included—into the bin in a fit of complete and utter disgust. He’d then spent over an hour explaining the importance of tea brewing, with a very detailed demonstration, which ended with an annoyed expression of how he didn’t understand why people felt the need to mix _cow tit juice_ into their tea. After that, it had taken weeks before you’d bought a carton of milk again.

The memory brings a soft smile to your face, one that you can’t get rid of, even as you’re entering the shop floor to see that he’s now leaning against the counter, with his arms crossed over his chest, having completed his job. There’s a strange grating noise that emits from the device in a worrying manner, but it’s working nonetheless, and there’s now a constant fan of cool air that circulates around the small room, and you’re thankful as the air is no longer stifling or uncomfortable. Your smile broadens, and you offer him a thanks, leaning to press the cup of tea into his outstretched hands. As you do so, your fingers unintentionally brush past his, and you pause for just a second too long before you pull them away, avoiding his stare as you circle back around the counter to continue your work. He watches you over the brim of his cup, swallowing down a deep mouthful.

You’re creating two piles of stems—one for those that are in an acceptable enough condition to sell, and one for those which are not—when you ask him, ‘not in work today?’

A thin black brow rises, and he snorts, ‘obviously not.’

Your eyes roll at his reply, but you don’t look up long enough to see the smirk that is curling the corners of his mouth upwards. There’s a moment of hesitation, and then you dare to mention, ‘so... Hange mentioned that you received flowers the other day.’

Levi scoffs, evidently irritated as he taps his fingers against the ceramic of the cup. ‘That shit-faced, big mouthed moron—’ His chest heaves as he sighs, clicking his tongue as he does so, ‘it was just some idiot playing a prank.’

He doesn’t notice your hands stilling upon the second bundle of stems. He’s taking another sip of his tea, humming an approval as his head tilts to peer down at the cup.

‘How do you know?’

‘Hm?’ He’s humming again, downing the rest of his drink in one mouthful.

You’re smiling, but even you can feel that it doesn’t reach your eyes. ‘You said it was a prank. How’d you know it’s a prank?’

He’s scoffing again, ‘I mean, it was obvious; they didn’t even bother leaving a note. Just scribbled my name on some shitty little napkin and ran off like some child.’

You hide your wince by bending down to retrieve yet another stem that has fallen to the ground.

‘Besides, _everyone_ knows I can’t stand flowers. I couldn’t stop fucking sneezing for an hour after.’

You straighten your knees to stand upright, discarding the stem onto the countertop. You don’t bother to look where it’s landed, already reaching for another. Your voice is quiet as you then dare to ask, ‘what’d you do with them, then? The flowers, I mean.’

He looks at you, as if your question is a strange one, ‘threw them out, _obviously_.’

You were already dreading his answer, and you suppose that it’s one that you should’ve expected, given his reaction. But it still hurts to hear, and you wince as if he’s physically slapped you in the face. He frowns, lips parting to ask what the matter is, when you suddenly hiss, a sharp pain blooming across the tip of your right thumb. A thorn has snagged itself into the skin, and although you should now be used to the sensation, it stings when you pull it free, crimson now trickling down the side of your hand. A curse falls from your lips easily, and you spin on your heel, heading for the staff room. You do a thorough job of washing your hands, putting in a little extra effort as Levi is now watching your every move having followed you to the sink. When you dry them on the town hanging on the cabinet door, the bleeding has already stopped. Your thumb, however, along with the uncomfortable lump that has formed in the back of your throat, still aches.

Levi eyes you carefully, your gaze now fixated to the ground when you finally turn to face him. He’s gentle as he pushes you out of the way so that he can wash out the cup he drank from before placing it on the draining board. And when he turns, he’s still frowning. Your sudden change of demeanour has confused him, you realise, and you feel a little guilty as you know that his reaction isn’t entirely uncalled for.

He doesn’t know that it was you who left those flowers for him. It had taken weeks for Hange to convince you to build up the courage to confess your feelings, and in a last-ditch attempt to preserve your dignity, you’d compromised with the promise to leave flowers until you eventually felt comfortable enough to reveal the true depth of your feelings towards a certain dark haired, foul mouthed army veteran.

So, you can’t really blame him for thinking that your gesture is nothing but a mere childish prank.

And so, even though his revelation makes the corners of your eyes sting with the promise of tears, you force a wobbly smile and dismiss him with the excuse that you’re going to close the store for an early lunch. And of course, he stomps all over your plans to sulk by yourself in the comfort of your own home by offering to take you out to lunch.

‘That’s okay,’ you mumble an excuse to try to reject him politely, climbing the ladder to flick the power button off the air-conditioning unit. The grating noise is silenced, and you don’t miss the way he loiters by the counter, watching you swipe the surface clean of any loose petals as you place the respective piles into two different boxes. They are then stored away into the back room, the door locked behind you. You take a moment to gather your belongings, and Levi follows you to the exit, yanking the key from your fingertips. Bewildered, you watch him lock the door, turning to you with an unhappy frown as he then stuffs the key into the front pocket of his trousers.

‘Uh,’ you start, pointing to where his hand forms a bulge in the fabric. ‘I kind of need those.’

‘You can have them after lunch.’

You’re not even allowed the chance to protest, the fingers of his free hand reaching to curl around your bicep. He pulls you after him, practically frog-marching you down the street. You’re unsure as to why he’s insisting on the notion of having lunch together, but the bite of his fingers digging into your skin is enough to warn you not to escape. Instead, you reluctantly follow, stumbling to keep up with his unrelenting pace. He decides on a small cafe just a few streets away, and he only releases your arm when you’re both queueing up to place an order. You tell him to order for you, as this isn’t a regular haunt of yours, and you can’t help but stare at the movement of his jaw as he orders an arrangement of sandwiches, with more tea, your brows tugging upward when you hear him ask for Earl Grey. He pretends to not feel your knowing smirk scorning the side of his face. When the cashier asks if you’d like to sit inside or outside, Levi snaps, ‘outside,’ eyeing the crowded tables with a distasteful look on his face.

The food and drinks are paid for, after he’d literally slapped your hand away when you’d tried to pay for your half, and you start to weave past the growing queue behind you, aiming to make your way out of the humid building to find a seat outside. However, just as you’re reaching for the door handle, someone knocks into you from behind, and you hurtle forward, barely catching your balance on the door frame.

Before the poor man can apologise however, Levi is gripping him by the front of his shirt and seething at him as if the man isn’t a good six inches taller than him. For such a short man, Levi is definitely intimidating, and it shows as he uses his strength to drag the man toward you. ‘Fucking apologise,’ he spits, blue eyes ablaze with what you can only describe as unrestrained anger.

‘Levi,’ you call his name in a poor attempt to calm him, ‘it’s fine—’

The stranger tries to push his way free, but Levi’s grip only tightens, and from where you stand, you swear that you can hear the sound of fabric tearing. ‘Oi, let me go! It was a fucking accident!’

‘Levi,’ you try again. But he’s not looking at you, nor at the other customers who are nosying in on the altercation, his stare fixated to the man before him.

‘Apologise,’ he repeats the word through gritted teeth.

The man is glaring back and shoves a hand at Levi’s chest. ‘Fuck you, man—it was an accident. Hey! Tell your boyfriend it was an accident!’

Your cheeks are aflame, ‘he’s not my—’

Levi’s knuckles are strained white as he suddenly shoves the man backwards so harshly that he flies to the floor, hands darting out to break his fall. You wince at the thudding of his knees impacting with the ground, narrowly missing a nearby table.

‘Hey—!’ He starts to scramble to his feet, but is stopped by the heel of Levi’s pressing to his stomach.

Hands stuffed into the front pocket of his trousers, forearms exposed for all to see, and the strands of hair that hide his eyes as his head tips downwards, Levi is certainly a sight to behold. And if it weren’t for the fact that he’s currently starting a fight with a man he doesn’t even know, you’d probably take the time to admire him. Instead, you spot one of the employees shoving their way through the small crowd that has formed, and you step forward to reach for Levi.

‘Levi,’ your fingers curl around his, attempting to tug him towards the door. But he doesn’t budge, not bothering to shake you from him as he digs his foot in harder.

‘Apologise,’ he orders a third time, voice low, thick with vexation. The man splutters below him, his hand locking around Levi’s ankle, as if trying to push himself free once more. But he doesn’t have to try much harder, as you suddenly yank on Levi’s hand, hard enough that he has no choice but to stumble away. His head whips to you, lips parted he begins to reprimand you, ‘what the fuck are you—?’

The rest of his sentence dies on the tip of his tongue as you pull on his hand, leading him out of the building. Somewhere behind you, the same employee manages to break past the crowd, following you out of the door.

‘Hey!’

You rush off down the street, the two of you now running hand in hand, your fingers still intertwined with his. You run until you deem it safe enough to slow to a brisk walk, still tugging Levi along with you. You’re just a few streets away from his house when he asks, ‘you going to hold my hand all day?’

You practically rip your fingers away from his, as if his skin has scolded yours, and you hope that your face hasn’t reddened. When you dare a glance in his direction, his jaw is clenched, eyes pointed forward, his hands now fisted in the front pockets of his trousers.

‘Sorry,’ you murmur. You feel guilty that his lunch plans, no matter how simple they may have been, have now been ruined. His reaction is still bewildering to you, but his immediate need to defend you is enough to fill you with gratitude. You’re just relieved that you managed to pull him away before anything serious happened.

He seems to understand the meaning by your apology, but still deems it unnecessary, the palm of his hand reaching to pat the top of your head. You pretend that the gesture doesn’t make your stomach swim with giddiness. He hums, mood seemingly improved by the time you come to a halt outside of his home. He pauses by the iron gate and you discreetly look for any signs of petals on the concrete. When you don’t see any, you’re a little relieved.

And then, much to your surprise, he tilts his head to glance at you from over his shoulder, ‘tea?’

๑

‘He invited you inside?!’

You wince at the volume of Hange’s voice, cringing as you lean away.

You’re currently visiting the nearby park with both Hange and Erwin, sat on the spotted blanket that Hange had packed away in the picnic they’d kindly prepared. Again, it’s another sunny day, although slightly cooler, something which you’re glad for because you don’t think the burning on the bridge of your nose can take any more heat. The picnic has been set up under a large tree, and the three of you relax under the shade. You’re in the middle of recounting the details of yesterday’s happenings, Hange definitely a lot more enthusiastic in their reactions to Erwin, who simply nods, tilting his head every so often. There’s a knowing smile that has been fixated to his face since you started your story, and after almost an entire hour, the sight is starting to unnerve you a little. However, before you can dwell on it, Hange’s hands are grasping your shoulders, and they’re sporting a smile that practically stretches from ear to ear.

‘Like, _actually_ inside?’

When you nod, you’re a tad concerned by the inhuman squeal they then release.

‘That’s a big step for Levi,’ Erwin translates, head tilted toward the sky. His eyes are closed, large frame taking up half of the blanket as he sprawls across it, his arms tucked under his head. ‘He doesn’t invite people inside.’

‘Never!’ Hange reiterates, bouncing in their seat.

‘Never?’ You ask, dubious.

Hange shakes their head so vigorously that you fear their glasses will fall from their face. These frames are new, as they’d proudly displayed upon their _fashionably late_ arrival. ‘We’ve known Levi since our army days and it took at least eight years before he told us where he lives. And an extra two before he let me even use his bathroom!’

‘You shouldn’t brag about that, Hange,’ Erwin’s tone is full of mirth.

You share his sentiment, sparing a soft smile before you pick at the bunch of white grapes that have been packed into the basket. ‘There’s nothing to be excited about, anyway,’ you pretend to not see the way Hange’s expression falls, ‘he threw the flowers away.’

‘He what?’ It is Erwin who looks up, surprised.

Hange is frowning, ‘I didn’t think he’d actually throw them.’

‘You _knew_ he was going to throw them away?’ You must’ve not been able to hide the hurt in your voice, as even Erwin shifts his body until he’s sitting upright, his expression morphing into one of pity. Somehow, the look on his face makes you feel even worse. Hange shuffles on their knees until they’re sat directly in front of you, their hands reaching for yours. Your bottom lip juts out into a pout, and your voice breaks a little, ‘maybe this isn’t a good idea.’

‘Nonsense!’ Hange bellows, hands squeezing tight around yours. ‘He invited you inside,’ they breathe your name, voice desperate, ‘he wouldn’t do that if you weren’t special to him.’

‘ _You’re_ special to him. _Erwin_ is special to him—him inviting me inside his house doesn’t mean he feels anything towards me. I mean, why would he?’ You laugh, but it’s one that is fuelled by disappointment, ‘we’ve barely known each other six months—it’s not his fault that I was stupid enough to get too attached, too quickly, so, really, I think we should just stop this now, before—’

‘You will do no such thing,’ Hange snaps at you, dark eyes glaring as they regard you with a look of disapproval. ‘If you can fall in love with someone in six, short months, then who says Levi isn’t able to?’

‘I _didn’t_ say I was in love with him—’

‘Look,’ Hange’s voice is stern, and you attempt to cower back, only their hands remain glued to your shoulders, keeping you locked in place. ‘I’ve known Levi for over ten years. I know how difficult he can be, and I know that he is an incredibly stubborn man—and he has a _lot_ of anger stored up in that tiny body of his—but he cares. He cares a _lot_ , and he’ll never say it, because, again, he’s stubborn, and he’s also kinda, sorta, definitely emotionally constipated, but that’s a story for another day,’ Hange rambles, freeing one hand to push their glasses further up the bridge of their nose. ‘I know him. And Erwin knows him. We _all_ know him. The kids aren’t blind either, you know—we all see how he acts around you.’

‘All he does is criticise me,’ you point out.

‘That’s his way of saying ‘I like you but I won’t tell you that I like you because having any form of sentiment towards other people is absolutely _disgusting_ , so I’m going to nit-pick every single thing that you say or do so that you’ll think I hate you, but I actually care about you very much’,’ Erwin cuts in this time, picking at his fifth sandwich. ‘It’s a Levi thing. You get used to it eventually.’

Hange points at him, grinning as if proud of his evaluation, ‘bingo.’

You continue to pick at the bunch of grapes until you choose one to chew on, mumbling, ‘doesn’t change the fact that he threw them away.’

Erwin looks at you pointedly. ‘He doesn’t know it came from you. If he had... well, actually, he’s allergic to pollen, plus, he’s... well, he’s _him_. So yeah, he might’ve still thrown them.’

Your face immediately takes upon an accusatory glare that is aimed at Hange, ‘see?! I told you it was a bad idea! Let’s just give it up now and pretend—’

‘Oh stop, don’t listen to him,’ Hange waves a dismissive hand, ‘Erwin doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’

‘Actually—’

‘Shut up, Erwin,’ Hange’s smile is almost terrifying, and even you feel a tad concerned about the tall, blonde man, whose mouth immediately snaps shut. Turning back to you, Hange squeezes your shoulder in what you think is supposed to be a reassuring manner. ‘We’ll continue as planned; maybe if you do this every week, he’ll finally build up an immunity to pollen. That, and he’ll have no choice but to accept that it’s not a prank.’

You have high doubts about that, but don’t bother to voice them aloud.

‘I’ll make him come shopping with me on Saturday,’ Hange thinks out loud, ‘or no, maybe not that, because he’ll try to get out of it, that little weasel. Hm... is anyone’s birthday coming up? Actually, no, he always gives everyone the same copy of Edgar Allen Poe, even though no-one actually reads them... Oh! That reminds me, when’s your birthday?’

You inform them that your birthday is just a couple of months away, having been born in the middle of autumn.

‘Erwin, make sure you remember that, because you’ll probably have to remind me,’ Hange is already jumping back to their plotting before Erwin can even agree. He does so anyway, hiding a smile with the shake of his head. Hange claps their hands in front of your face, the action making you start a little, ‘don’t worry, I’ll think of something. I’ll keep him out for as long as possible, you just have to make sure you drop the flowers off before he gets home. Don’t use daises this time.’

You exhale, as you already know that there’s no use in arguing. In the short time you’ve known each other, you’ve already come to learnt that once Hange has an idea, there’s very little in changing their mind. You easily accept your fate, with the nagging hope that maybe this won’t end horribly. And so, you concede to Hange’s plan, but your nose crinkles as you remember something that Levi had said, ‘he said something about there not being a note. Should I—?’

‘No,’ both Hange and Erwin answer at the same time.

‘Bad idea, it’ll give him clues,’ Erwin shrugs when you turn your questioning stare to him first. ‘He’s a clever bastard; he’ll figure you out.’

Hange is nodding, agreeing. ‘Plus, he’ll recognise your handwriting.’

You frown, expression pensive, ‘I don’t think he’s seen my handwriting.’

‘Still, don’t risk it,’ Hange shakes their head. ‘Just leave the flowers. Different ones, maybe some roses. Something _really_ cheesy—something that’ll get him thinking.’

You’re not entire sure if you agree with their way of thinking—because _surely_ roses are far more suspicious than daises—but when the three of you eventually decide to call it a day, you leave them with the promise to ditch the daises this time.

For the remainder of the week, you’re surprised to see that Levi’s lunchtime visit wasn’t just a one time thing. Every day, at half eleven, on the dot, he visits with an array of different excuses. Your favourite was a very blunt, ‘I was bored,’ followed by a loud sneeze that embarrassed him so much so, that he spent the remainder of his hour-long visit sulking in the staff-room. When he’d left, you’d saw that he’d actually spent his time cleaning the entire room, the overwhelming scent of citric cleaning products lingering for days afterwards.

It is mid-week when he asks you to lunch again.

You’re mildly surprised, but it’s also a pleasant one, and so for the next two days, the two of you spend your lunch hours at the nearby park. It’s only a small space, with a pond, a small play area that looks to be abandoned, and a family sized bench that is comfortable enough. And of course, Levi _has_ a comment to say about the cleanliness of the table top, but when you snap at him to either _sit the hell down or go home—_ further pointing out that it is far too warm for you to be dealing with yet another of his temper tantrums—he surprises you by obeying without another word. And when you peek at him after a few minutes of eating through a very tense, awkward silence, you swear that the tips of his ears are tinged pink.

It is when you’re walking back to your shop when he says it, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck and his eyes purposely looking at anything but you.

‘You don’t look ugly today.’

And before you can think of anything to say to _that_ , he’s spinning on his heel and taking off in the opposite direction without so much as a goodbye.

You stare after his retreating form, bewildered.

Come Saturday, and you’re still nervous. You’ve already prepared the box of flowers that sit on the coffee table in your small apartment, and as promised, there is no note. It’s peonies this time, and after checking over each petal with painstaking precision, you’re satisfied that these, at least, look a little fancier than the daisies had. You just hope, the box now clasped between two clammy-palmed hands as you slowly make your way over to Levi’s home, that Hange is correct with their prediction that maybe this time, Levi won’t throw them away.

Today is yet another hot day, and although you’ve waited all afternoon for Hange’s signal, you’d still waited another hour, just to be safe. Still, waiting hasn’t saved you from the heat, as the sun is still high up in the sky, the air thick with humid. Levi’s home isn’t far from yours—it’s just a mere ten minute walk away—yet by the time you’re crossing over the street to enter his front garden, your hair is already slick with sweat, the strands of your braid sticking to your skin in a way that it makes your shoulders roll, uncomfortable. You pause in the gateway, looking from left to right, and back again, just to triple check that he’s nowhere in sight, before you release a deep sigh of relief. But just as you’re bending down to place the peonies down onto the front step, there comes a voice that shyly expels your name from somewhere behind you, and you immediately feel your heart leap into the back of your throat.

‘I _knew_ it!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- thank you so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed!!  
> \- please show support by leaving a kudos or even a comment; i’d love to hear what you think.


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- i do not own any of Attack on Titan.  
> \- i just want to say a big thank you all for the support you've shown for this story so far; i'm v honoured that so many of you have already left such lovely comments and some of you have even bookmarked this story already, wow!?!?!  
> \- okaaaaaay, this chapter is the first introduction to some levi smut, along with a big dose of mixed emotions, so i hope you guys are ready, because i know that i wasn't. if the smut isn't your thing, i apologise, but guess who just couldn't resist writing levi smut? me, that's who. enjoy!

**_July: Week Two_ ** ****

The yelp of surprise that escapes you is both comical as it is concerning, and in your panic, the box of flowers slip from your fingers, thumping to the floor in a way that makes you flinch. There’s a flurry of rushed footsteps, and then a familiar head of blonde hair comes into view, gentle hands reaching to neaten the fallen flowers.

‘I’m so sorry!’ Armin stutters an apology, all red cheeks and wide eyes, ‘I didn’t mean to actually scare you!’

Your pulse is still throbbing in the side of your neck as you help to rearrange the peonies, plucking away a few loose petals. If you must admit, you are relieved that it’s Armin who has discovered you, and not Eren. You’re not really sure if you can trust the brunette to keep this a secret. Not yet, anyway. You gently push Armin’s hands away, silently disapproving of the way he’s arranging the flowers, and he watches you take over with a keen interest. Once satisfied, you sigh, swallowing down the thick lump that has formed at the back of your throat. Armin is quiet as he eyes you for a few long seconds, and you pretend that you can’t feel his questioning gaze burning into the side of your face.

Eventually, he breaks the silence with a meek, ‘when are you going to tell him that you love him?’

It’s a strange feeling, to hear someone other than Hange airing the extent of your affections aloud. This time, however, you don’t deny it, and you answer with a depressed, ‘I don’t know… never?’

‘Never?’ Armin almost looks appalled by your answer. ‘Then why are you—?’

‘I don’t know, Armin,’ your words rush out, a little snappish. You breathe an apology, one that he accepts with a smile that looks like he pities you. ‘Hange is very persuasive,’ you reveal with a frown pinching your eyebrows together in the middle, ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea, but Hange says it’s a good way to build up my courage until I’m ready to tell him.’

He’s taken upon a pensive expression, sky-blue eyes glazed over as he stares down at the peonies. He’s thumbing with one of the petals you’d picked away, before it falls from his fingers, fluttering to the ground. When he meets your gaze, his smile is one of a gentle encouragement, ‘maybe Hange is right.’

You scoff, using the stone wall to brace your hand as you pull yourself to your feet. Armin mimics you, watching as you turn your head away from the flowers. ‘I don’t think so… but… I don’t know. I can’t help but hope, you know?’ You force a laugh, the sound making Armin frown at the back of your head as he follows you out of the small garden, where you come to halt outside of the gate. ‘He thought it was a prank,’ you tell him, but the look on his face gives away the fact that he already know. When your expression morphs into one of exasperation, he is quick to explain.

‘We saw him the day after—he seemed genuinely confused,’ his eyes are gleaming with pity, his brows pulled upwards as he peers at you. ‘But if he knew they were from you, I’m sure he’d accept them.’

‘He literally told me that he couldn’t stand them—god! Why the _hell_ did I agree to this?!’ And then, much to Armin’s horror, tears are welling in the corners of your eyes, blinking down the curves of your cheeks. He’s already pulling you into an embrace, his arms circling around your shoulders in what you think is supposed to be a comforting manner. It only makes you cry harder, somehow, and your entire body shudders against him.

He blurts your name in a panic, one of his hands patting the top of your head as your tears drench the shoulder of his t-shirt. You’re mumbling a muffled apology into the fabric, head hung with shame even after you’ve calmed enough for him to take a hesitant step backwards. He’s eyeing you wearily, as if expecting you to cry again, and you try to force a wobbly smile. It must look as forced as it feels, however, as his face falls, and he reaches out to press his fingers to your cheeks, brushing away the remnants of any tear-streaks. Your bottom lip trembles, but despite your embarrassment, you manage to croak out an apology, one that he waves away with a genuine smile. Your eyes dart over to the peonies, and in that moment, you make a split-second decision. You hesitate before stepping back into the vicinity of Levi’s front garden, and then before Armin can stop you, you’re already marching up the short cobbled path, hands snatching the box from the ground.

He calls your name, evidently confused as you stride past him, freeing a hand just enough so that you can yank open the lid to the dustbin. ‘No, wait!’ Armin yells, but it’s too late.

You watch the petals scatter to the bottom of the container, the box tipping on its side as the peonies spill out, now a crumpled mess. For a short moment, you pretend that the horrified look in Armin’s eyes doesn’t make you feel regretful. But it doesn’t last long, and you already wish that you could take it back. You’d spent months nursing those flowers into the beauty that they once were, now diminished to nothing but a sad pile of broken petals at the bottom of Levi’s dustbin. You can only pray that the next time he throws out his rubbish, he doesn’t look carefully enough to notice the mess you’ve now created. You step back, allowing the lid to slam shut, and then without another word, you spin on your heel, and start your journey back to your home. Armin rushes after you, and after he murmurs your name twice without receiving an answer, he resigns himself to following you in silence. You’re too preoccupied with your own thoughts to feel guilty, and you completely forget that he’s following behind you until you’re yanking your front door open, allowing it to swing shut on an unsuspecting Armin. He yelps as the doorframe collides with his elbow and the sound is enough to jerk you out of your thoughts. You immediately trace your steps back to the door, rapidly apologising as you tug him inside. He’s forcing a grin, one that doesn’t reach his eyes, which are currently swimming with concern as he watches you sigh heavily, seemingly defeated.

‘I’m sorry,’ you apologise again, and he’s already shaking his head, stammering an excuse.

‘I-I should’ve been watching where I was walking,’ he shoves his elbow under your nose, the pale skin blooming a bright red colour. ‘See? Doesn’t even hurt.’

You don’t voice your doubts, even when you see him wince upon straightening his arm out to allow it to fall by his side. His eyes are observing your face, the blue irises shining as they flitter across your features and you quickly turn your head away, occupying yourself with neatening the cushions on your small settee. You usher Armin into a seat and you offer him a drink as compensation for causing his injury. He seems to understand that you’re trying to avoid talking about what has just occurred, and for now, he allows you to hide your regret by busying yourself with the task of preparing him a cup of coffee.

Once you press the cup into his hands, you sit in the armchair opposite him, gaze somewhere far away as you watch the thin line of steam that trickles up toward the ceiling. Armin takes a sip, and you blink as if suddenly remembering where you are. There’s an awkward pause, and when his lips part, you jump to prevent him from speaking.

‘Please… don’t,’ you all but beg him.

He frowns at you, seeming to disapprove, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he takes his time in finishing his drink, and only when he places the now-empty cup onto the coaster, do you break your silence.

‘I’m scared.’

Armin blinks, surprised.

He doesn’t know what he had expected you to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. He’s watching you with avid attention, and it only makes you feel that more self-conscious.

Your cheeks are stained pink as you then whisper your confession through a very coy voice, ‘I like him. A lot.’

‘I know,’ Armin is smiling now. His blatant acknowledgment of your feelings makes you blink, a little bewildered by the pointed look he now aims at you. He’s sitting up in his seat, the longer strands of his fringe pushed back from his face as he watches you with mirth dancing in those big blue eyes of his. ‘We _all_ know.’

The revelation makes your stomach twist, uncomfortable by the possibility that your hidden feelings aren’t actually as private as you’d originally thought.

‘The only one who _doesn’t_ know, is the Corporal,’ Armin assures you, his smile kind. That little fact makes you feel less tense, something he notes with the knowing tilt of his chin. His hands are now clasped together, ‘he’s a very complicated man,’ he pauses to say your name, ‘but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t _feel_. He feels, a lot more than you might think—he’s just very bad at showing it.’

You tut, ‘you sound like Hange.’

Armin almost looks proud of this comparison, and you choose to not voice the fact that you’re not entirely confident in Hange being the ideal role model for the youngsters to look up to. Hange is a beautiful person, inside and out, you have no qualms about that. But their eccentric personality—along with their unique ability to somehow persuade you to do things that you’d probably never dream of doing if not for their influence—is the cause of your conflicted feelings. You know that it’s not entirely fair to place the whole blame on Hange—you’d had just as much freedom to follow this plan just as much as Hange had planted the idea into your head in the first place—and it only makes you feel guiltier about throwing the peonies away. Right now, you know that Hange is following through on their end of the deal to keep Levi distracted, the knowledge only making you shrink back into your seat, your legs pulling up to your chest. Whilst your friend is doing their best to help you, you’re sat here, wallowing in your own misery—a misery that you’ve only caused yourself. You glance toward the clock on the wall, and your stomach sinks upon realising that it’s already nearing evening. By now, you’re sure that they will be returning soon, if they haven’t already, a fact proven by your mobile phone vibrating on the coffee table.

You see Hange’s picture flashing across the screen—a selfie that they’d forced you to take with them, half of your face hidden by a bundle of white-petalled daises (you wince at the irony as you stare at the photograph)—and you watch it ring until it silences.

Armin’s lips part, but he’s cut off by Hange calling a second time. The both of you watch it ring, and the blonde dares to suggest, ‘maybe you should answer…’

You hesitate, but once you realise that Hange will only continue to call if you don’t pick up the phone, you reach for the device, swiping your thumb across the screen.

‘Three hours!’ Hange’s voice shrieks down the phone. Even Armin flinches from his seat opposite you, and gawks, wide eyed. You wince, listening as Hange berates you, ‘three bloody hours! He made me sit in that blasted tea-shop for _three_ hours! He’s an absolute mad-man, and still, I—!’ They pause, their voice suddenly significantly lower as they hiss down the speaker, ‘— _I_ let him drink his seven—yes, _seven_!—cups of tea, because, again, I—unlike _you_ —was being a good friend, and endured it! For you! Only, what do I see when he _finally_ decides to go home?! Oh, yes, that’s right! You—for whatever reason—and it had _better_ be a damn good reason— decided to throw the flowers away?! _Why_?! And honestly! Who the hell even needs _that_ many flavours of tea anyway!? _Ridiculous_!’

And before you can even get a word in, or manage to think of literally _any_ excuse to defend yourself with—which, judging by Armin’s expression of pure terror, confirms the passing thought that it’ll probably be ignored anyway—you listen to the tell-tale beeping that signals the ending of the call. You pull the phone from your ear and stare down at it, dumbfounded.

‘They ended the—’ you start to say, only to be cut off by the sound of a fist slamming against the surface of your front door, followed by Hange bellowing your name from the other side. You rush to unlock the door in favour of avoiding a complaint from your neighbours, and Hange pushes past, storming down the hall and into the living room before you can stop them.

‘Arlert!’ Hange greets Armin, who still looks as scared as he had twenty seconds ago. ‘How lovely to see you! How have you been?’ Armin’s lips part to answer, but he isn’t given the chance, ‘that’s nice, I’m great too,’ Hange’s smile is stretched too wide across their face, and when they look at you, their big brown eyes don’t even attempt to conceal their unrestrained anger. Glancing at Armin, Hange orders, ‘please leave.’ 

‘He knows, Hange,’ you sigh, slumping back into your chair, shoulders slumping. Hange pauses to assess your miserable expression, and all of their previous anger seems to dissipate when they release a sigh of their own. Armin watches the pair of you from his seat on the edge of the settee, unsure of what he should say or do. You don’t appear to notice his dilemma, however, and you scratch your left eyebrow—a habit you’ve possessed since childhood—and huff, ‘he caught me.’

Hange is quiet as you then recount the happenings of how you’d thrown the flowers away in a short-lived bout of defeat, and that you now regret that decision.

‘They were some pretty nice flowers,’ you sniff, shoving down the urge to cry by pressing your face into the armchair cushion. Hange is now sitting beside Armin, the pair of them watching you carefully as you finish your thoughts with a pitiful, ‘he’s way out of my league.’

At this, Hange snorts, loudly, and even laughs, just as loudly, the corners of their mouth curling upwards. ‘Please don’t tell me that you actually believe that!’ When you reply with a searing glare, eyes peeking over the top of your cushion, Hange’s smile falls, and they click their tongue at you. ‘I’ve already told you—Armin, _you_ tell her—Levi cares for you just as much as you care for him.’ The tinging on Armin’s cheeks is a tad suspicious, but you don’t have the chance to decipher the meaning behind it, as Hange is standing from their seat, hands crossing behind their back as they begin to pace the carpet of your living room floor. ‘You’re worrying over nothing—what’s the worse that can happen?’ They come to a halt before you, hands raised in the air as they question you. ‘Do you think he’ll reject you or something? Is that why you threw the flowers away?’

Your expression is one of clear conflict, and Hange watches as you shrug, unable to answer their question. ‘I don’t know… I don’t know, Hange. All I do know is that I’m wasting my time, and you’re being weirdly pushy about this— _why_ are you, by the way?—because we all know that Levi has zero interest in—’

‘He does.’

It is Armin who interrupts your self-pity wallowing with a sad smile.

‘He talks about you a lot—more so than he’s spoken about anyone else before. Even Eren notices,’ Armin doesn’t seem to notice that he’s unintentionally insulted his best friend. ‘He thinks that no-one realises, but we all know that he’s been sneaking off to have lunch with you everyday.’

His revelation makes your cheeks redden, and you despise the fact that his words make you feel even just the tiniest bit of hope. Hange is now crouching before you, a hand reaching out to grab yours. ‘I’m sorry that I’m being so pushy,’ they look a little saddened by your description, and your mouth is already opening to apologise. They talk over your stumbled words, their fingers squeezing around yours. ‘You’re both very dear to me—to Erwin, too—and we all know that life hasn’t been the easiest, for either of you,’ you cringe, not particularly wanting to talk about the wrongdoings of your past, and luckily, Hange is quick to realise this. ‘But it’s because of that, that we want you to be happy. Everyone knows that Levi is stubborn as he is frustrating—’ behind Hange, Armin is nodding in agreement, ‘—and for whatever reason known only to God, he thinks that the world is out to get him; that he doesn’t deserve happiness. But he does. He really, _really_ does, and even if he does reject you—which I don’t think he will—then I think it’ll still make him happy to know that those flowers came from you.’ There’s a tense pause as you mull over their words. Hange squeezes your hand again before letting go to stand up straight. ‘I wouldn’t encourage you to do this if I didn’t think you had a chance—I care about you just as much as I care about him. You _both_ deserve this.’

You feel a little embarrassed by their confession, and the guilt that has built inside you has now increased by a tenfold. You squirm in your seat, uncomfortable by their attentions, and you avoiding looking either of them in the eye as you eventually relent. Your shoulders slump even further, if possible, and your head tilts to rest against the back of the armchair. Hange has occupied their previous seat next to an apprehensive looking Armin, big blue eyes glued to your form as you curl into the seat, eyes closing as you murmur a quiet, ‘okay.’

‘Okay?’ Hange repeats dumbly, before the biggest smile breaks out onto their face. ‘Okay, as in—?’

‘I’ll do it,’ you huff, cheeks enflamed.

Hange releases a loud cheer, fist pumping into the air so vigorously that it makes Armin jolt in his seat, surprised. Hange chuckles down at him, their arm swinging over his shoulders and pulling him in for a tight hug. Armin’s voice is muffled, but you still him ask sheepishly, ‘what do we do now?’

Hange’s grin widens once more, and you must admit that you’re still a little uneasy about conceding to their plans so easily. Still, you guess that the pair will remain here for a while yet, so you make an offer of tea.

‘Now,’ Hange is unable to contain their giddy excitement, ‘we talk flowers.’

๑

It is the middle of the night when Levi wakes with a start.

It is still dark, and he’s panting, eyes fixated to the ceiling as it takes few long moments for him to realise that he’s no longer dreaming. When he does, it’s with an exasperated groan, the balls of his hands pressing hard over his eyelids. There’s an intolerable heat in the air, aided by the rapid beating of his heart, his pulse throbbing angrily at the vein in his neck. His hands scrabble to throw the bedsheets from his waist, relishing in the brief rush of cool air, but it doesn’t last long and he listens to the sheets landing with a soft thump on the ground. He doesn’t have to look to know that there’s a slick that has formed between his legs, and the knowledge only serves to make his stomach twist with shame. Hesitating, he takes his time in sitting upright, upper lip curling at the stickiness that clings to his abdomen. A string of curses are whispered into the dark, and although he knows that he’s alone, he can’t help his eyes from darting toward the bedroom door. As usual, it’s locked shut, but it does little to ease the guilt that is now gnawing at the centre of his chest.

It’s not the first time that he’s dreamt of you, and it certainly isn’t the first time he’s awoken with an erection after doing so. Still, he feels an unbearable guilt whenever this happens, and he already knows that he’ll probably be avoiding you for the next few days after this. And with this decision made, he allows his finger-tip to trace past the dark curls that are soon due a trim, and over the dribble of semen that glistens the swollen tip of his cock. The action makes his toes curl, and he grimaces, hips jolting upward as his slick aids the fisting of his girth. It only takes a few tugs to make him pant once more, and his eyes roll shut, head tilted backwards as he groans your name under his breath. A particularly harsh jerk encourages the expelling of an uncharacteristic whine through clenched teeth, voice an octave higher than usual as he grunts, hand wet with arousal. It doesn’t take long for his mind to muster up the image of you, and he pictures the expanse of skin that had shown when you’d wore those tiny denim shorts of yours. He pictures you now, and suddenly, it’s your hand that is cupping his sac with eager determination, and it is your fingers that are stroking across the tip of his cock, gathering the slick in the palm of your hand and kneading it down his girth until he’s murmuring your name once more. He imagines your breath fanning across the sensitive skin of his thighs, and he shudders, biting down on his bottom lip, hard enough that it stings with the promise of broken skin.

It is rare that he partakes in this form of self-care—although, when he does, it is usually in some sort of lust-crazed frustration sourced by his ever-increasing affections towards you. And so, it’s just minutes later when he feels the familiar tension building in his abdominal muscles. It spreads across his entire body in a heat that makes his hips roll in a newfound enthusiasm, motivated by the finger that teases at the ring of muscles hidden below his sac. This is _new_ , he thinks, frowning at the foreign sensation, his muscles clenching around his finger-tip. He doesn’t dare push past the first knuckle, his hand stilling as a thin layer of sweat coats his entire body. Once he deems himself relaxed enough, he gives an experimental twisting of his finger, and his cock twitches against his abdomen, his mouth falling open in a silent moan. It feels better—a _lot_ better—than he’d expected, a fact that should’ve encouraged him to continue, but instead, it puzzles him. It makes him panic a little, and he quickly rips his finger free, a hissed pain following soon after.

For a long while after, he lies there on the mattress, erection a heavy weight in the palm of his hand, his sac tightening as a reminder of the arousal that continues to tickle away at his nerve endings. Once more, he’s imagining you, fist pumping at such a pace that his breath leaves him in short, rapid bursts, and when he finally, _finally_ comes undone, he does so with a broken shout of your name. His chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath, the remnants of his orgasm spreading across his body like a liquid euphoria that renders his eyelids too heavy to remain open.

When he’s able to breathe easy, his brows pinch together, and he releases a shaky breath that escapes him with a quiet, ‘fuck.’

An arm comes to cover his eyes, the corners burning with the promise of tears, and he unwillingly welcomes the combined feelings of regret, disgust and shame that settle somewhere deep in his gut. It had felt so easy, so _normal_ to dream of you, to picture you beside him, to imagine your voice whispering the sentiments that he’s wanted to hear for so long. But now, he feels repulsed by what he’s done, and he sits up just enough to snatch the sheets from the floor, angrily smearing them across the mess he’s made, wiping his skin clean. His hair clings to his forehead, the strands soaked in sweat, his skin glistening, also saturated. His nose crinkles, jaw clenching as he throws the sheets to the ground once more, his legs swinging over the edge of the mattress.

He busies himself with washing himself clean in the shower, scrubbing every inch of his skin until it singes red. He treats his hair in a similar manner, massaging the shampoo into the inky strands so vigorously that he accidentally blinks some of the liquid into his eye. It instantly burns, his eyes watering and he slams his fist against the shower wall, yelling a strained ‘shitting, stupid— _stupid—_ fucking— _fuck_!’ He sinks to the shower floor, sobbing something incoherent that even he can’t understand, and his shoulders wrack with the force of his tears mixing with the scalding spray that bursts out of the shower-head. He stays there until all traces of soap have been washed from his skin, the water having long turned cold when he eventually musters the energy to haul himself upright. He doesn’t remember getting dressed—nor does he remember shoving the soiled bedsheets into the washing machine—but at some point, he blinks, and he’s now stood in front of the bedroom window, bleary eyed as he takes note of the rising sun. It’s still early, as the sun usually rises at some time between four and five in the morning, but he already knows that he won’t be getting any more sleep tonight.

He yanks the window open wide enough to allow the scent of his dreams to escape from the room, and he leaves it that way, his feet moving of their own accord as they lead him down the stairs, his fingers reaching for the set of keys that hang on a small hook by the front door. He unlocks it, and it swings open just enough for him to slip through the gap, clicking the door shut behind him. He sits on the stone wall for a long while, welcoming the aroma of the early morning air that isn’t so warm yet. It’s crisp enough that there’s even a gentle breeze, and his eyes close as it fans across his cheeks and over his forehead, his shoulders sinking with a resounding sigh. He isn’t sure how long he sits there, but after a long while, he hears the unmistakable sound of the washing machine ending its cycle with a loud bleeping noise that he can hear, even from outside. He leaves the keys on the wall, making his way back inside to retrieve the washed sheets. Only, as he’s pulling them out of the basin, he’s brimming with another spell of remorse and umbrage—both sourced by his own revolting actions—and he’s marching outside, soaked bedsheets in hand, the front door slamming shut behind him. Barefoot, he tramples over the pebbled path, and throws open the iron gate so harshly that it ricochets off the wall behind him, swinging back at him. It would have hit him had he not stuck out his foot to kick it away again, ignoring the bite of pain caused by the metal colliding and bouncing off of his ankle bone. It’ll probably bruise, not that he particularly gives a shit about that right now, as he’s too busy with yanking open the dustbin lid, reaching to shove the sheets inside. He’s making a mess all over the pavement, he realises, the sheets dripping water down the length of his forearms. He grunts, screwing the fabric into a ball and squeezing out as much liquid as he can. Then, he’s lifting the lid once more, only to pause, hand frozen in the air.

There, at the bottom of the bin, is what looks to be the crushed petals of a flower that he doesn’t recognise. Something shrub-like, he guesses by the bulbous shape, not that it really matters, as they’re scattered at the bottom of the container, the petals looking a little deflated. He stares at them for a long time, his level of irritation growing with each passing second, and again, he comes to the conclusion that it’s the same person is playing yet another prank. Clearly, leaving flowers on his front step wasn’t enough the first time, and so the perpetrator has obviously decided to go a step further by shoving them into his bin as well. The thought somehow manages to worsen his existing foul mood, and he grits his teeth, cursing a string of expletives from under his breath as he reaches to shove the bedsheets as far down as his arms can reach. Now, he can no longer see the flowers, and he slams the lid shut with a loud shout, ‘fuck!’

He turns to make his way back inside, however, just as he kicking the iron gate shut behind him, he sees a flash of red from the corner of his eye. His head turns so quickly that he actually feels his neck crick, his glare now aimed at the singular stem that is weaved into the branches of the large shrub that separates his garden from the neighbours on the left-hand side of his residence. He squints as he reaches for the stalk, ripping it free so roughly that he also removes a handful of leaves along with it.

‘You’re fucking shitting me,’ he spits out loud, eyes narrowing down at the singular rose. He balls his fist around the stem, unaware of the thorn that is hiding behind one of the crumpled leaves. It jabs itself into the side of his middle finger and he grates out a muffled, ‘stupid, shitting thing,’ as he rips it free, smearing the blood onto the back of his free hand. The rose remains trapped between his fingers even after he’s stomped his way back inside, free hand snatching the keys from where he’s left them on the wall, and he locks the front door shut behind him.

He enters the kitchen to search for a vase, and when he can’t find one he has to settle with the biggest jug he has. He fills it with water, narrowed eyes watching as the liquid sloshes around when he slams it down onto the dining table. He drags a chair out from underneath the surface, and slumps down into it, the wood creaking as it adjusts to his weight, and he runs his fingers through his hair. The room is still dimly lit, and the kitchen is significantly cooler than his bedroom had been, but there, he sits, and stares at the rose as it gently bobs around and around until the water settles. The only sound that fills the silence is his own breathing, in and out, in and out of his nostrils until he sniffs, and to his annoyance, sneezes. His head darts forward with such unexpected force that his hands shoot out to catch himself on the edge of the table, in fear of his nose colliding with it. He sniffs again, and his stare morphs into one that is a mixture of exhaustion and infuriation.

Eventually, long after the sun has risen high in the sky, he recognises the twittering of early-morning birdsong, and that is how he drifts off, with the curve of his cheek warming as the sunlight trickles its way in through the kitchen window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- thank you so much for reading; i hope you enjoyed!!  
> \- please show support by leaving a comment; i'd love to hear what you think.


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